


it’s a long night (can i spend it with you?)

by HeartonFire



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Clint Barton Has PTSD, Deaf Clint Barton, Feelings, Fluff, Haircuts, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, M/M, Nightmares, Pandemics, Quarantine, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24026995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartonFire/pseuds/HeartonFire
Summary: Clint was just trying to recover from his last mission in peace when Bucky showed up with bags full of groceries, told him there was a city-wide shutdown in place, and moved himself in to take care of Clint. When Clint's injuries turned out to be worse than he thought, he let Bucky stay and found out that Bucky might just be the best quarantine roommate he could have asked for.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 30
Kudos: 218





	it’s a long night (can i spend it with you?)

_Thud._

Blearily opening his eyes, Clint tried to figure out what that banging sound was. It took him a few seconds to remember that he was back in his apartment, away from the tower, and the sound was someone knocking on his door. He groaned, realizing he had slept in his aids. Again.

_Thud. Thud._

“It’s open!” he yelled, or tried to yell, his voice cracking on the words. He couldn’t remember the last time he drank any water. His whole body ached from his last mission, and his ears felt sticky and gummed-up. The last thing he wanted was for someone to come visit, but someone was here and he had to deal with it. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Come in!”

Of all the people he expected to see from his semi-permanent location on his couch, Bucky Barnes, carrying bags of groceries and supplies, would have been at the bottom of the list. Sure, they were friends, mutual Avengers buddies, and sure, maybe Clint had developed a wildly inappropriate crush on him during their time at the Tower, but Bucky had never come here before. Clint had never expected him to. 

Seeing Bucky here, making himself at home in his kitchen, Clint realized he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had last seen Bucky in person. Clint had come back here a couple of days ago to recover without JARVIS and everyone else hovering over him, but before that, there had been months of missions that took him out of the city. Clint hadn’t minded; he liked to have something to do, something to keep him busy, but it was strange to realize that he hadn’t actually seen Bucky in at least a few months, and now here he was. 

In Clint’s apartment.

Looking like _that_.

His hair was shiny, pulled away from his face, nothing like the stringy mask it had been when they first met. His movements were calm and controlled, and there was none of the wild panic that used to make him shake sometimes. He looked unfairly good, like he had really been taking care of himself since Clint last saw him and had found some well-earned confidence. The difference was startling, and Clint couldn’t help but stare at him.

“You just leave your door unlocked?” Bucky said, smirking a little as he set down the bags, muscles flexing under his shirt. 

“Yes. What are you doing here?” Glancing around, Clint realized just what a disaster his apartment was right now, empty pizza boxes and dirty dishes stacked on every flat surface, and a circle of medication bottles and bandages strewn around him, placed within reaching distance so he didn’t have to get up too often. _He_ didn’t care, but he understood that other people might. Bucky might. 

Bucky looked up from unpacking the groceries he’d brought. “Thought you might need someone to check on you.”

“Who thought that? Natasha? Steve?” Clint’s voice rose, and he saw Bucky’s forehead crease into a frown.

“Look at you,” Bucky said, gesturing at Clint’s whole _everything_ and raising his eyebrows. “You’re injured. You shouldn’t be on your own.”

“So they sent you to babysit me?” Clint said, scowling. He knew from the last time he had looked in the mirror that his face was a delightful combination of healing cuts and bruises of all colors and sizes. He hadn’t showered in at least a few days, and he certainly didn’t look as put together as Bucky, but he wasn’t helpless. “I’m getting a little tired of everyone thinking I can’t take care of myself. I can. Been doing it a long time.”

“Have you seen the news?” Bucky went back to putting away groceries, nodding vaguely at Clint. Clint was pretty sure Bucky had just ignored everything he had just said. Everyone always did, when he tried to tell them he was actually a functioning adult who could keep himself alive, thank you very much.

“What news?” Bucky was trying to change the subject, but Clint was feeling a little lightheaded at the moment, so he’d allow it. He also hadn’t watched the news in weeks. It was all so depressing, and there was nothing he could do about it in his current state, so what was the point?

“They’re shutting down the city.” Oh. That was the point.

“What?” Clint tried to sit up, but all that did was give him a stabbing pain between his eyes to go with his dizziness. “Why? How?”

“This virus is getting out of hand and they want to slow down how fast it’s spreading. They’re shutting down everything except essential businesses, and everyone is supposed to stay home as much as they can.”

The mention of the virus rang a couple of distant bells in Clint’s head, but he still had so many questions. He decided to start with the most pressing. “Okay, but how does that add up to me getting a babysitter?”

Bucky sighed. “Listen, I get it. You’re an independent guy. I know that. I just wanted to bring you some supplies, since I know you just got back.” He paused, chewing on his bottom lip. “But now, seeing you like this, don’t you think it would be helpful to have someone around to help you out, at least until you’re back on your feet?”

“I can get around fine,” Clint said, stubbornness driving him to sit all the way up, grab the crutches that were leaning against the couch, and stand. He swayed a little, but took a few hops and raised his eyebrows at Bucky. “See?”

Unfortunately, in his determination to prove Bucky wrong, Clint had definitely moved too fast. His vision began to narrow, darkness creeping in at the edges. He saw the look of concern on Bucky’s face, saw him drop whatever was in his hands to rush over, and then everything went black.

* * *

When Clint opened his eyes again, he was in his bedroom. The blinds were closed and the room was cool and dark, just the way he liked it. Peeking over the top of the blanket, he saw his aids safely placed on the bedside table and sighed with relief. He snuggled down into his comforter and went back to sleep. 

He wasn’t sure how long he slept, but he was woken by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He jerked awake, searching the room for whoever had snuck up on him while he slept. When he was finally able to focus on him, Bucky had already taken a step back, eyes wide, sloshing some water down his front from the glass he was holding. The dark spot spread over his shirt, and Clint was momentarily distracted, watching the water soak the material.

Bucky said something, but Clint shook his head, gesturing at his ears and Bucky nodded. He must have taken the aids out, so of course he knew Clint wasn’t wearing them. Clint tried to stretch to grab them from the table, but pain coursed through his body and he froze with a groan. Bucky turned so Clint could see his face.

“You can read lips, right?” Clint nodded, settling back down onto the mattress and trying to breathe through the lingering ache that throbbed in every inch of his body. “How are you feeling?” His expression was gentle, like the dim light of the room had softened all his edges.

“Uh, not great, actually. How are you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Clint. “I brought your medications. Here.” He handed Clint the glass of water and reached for him again, stopping himself just before he touched Clint’s shoulder. “Do you need help sitting up?”

Clint frowned. “No.” He tried to will himself into a sitting position, but the combination of the pain from his knee and the stitches pulling on his back was too much, even for his exceptional pain tolerance. “Yes,” he said gloomily. He was usually a little beat up after a mission, but this one had really taken it out of him. Maybe he was getting too old for this job. He had never even considered what happened after his Avengers career was over. What would he do if he wasn’t Hawkeye?

Bucky moved forward, sliding an arm behind Clint’s shoulders and supporting him into a mostly upright position. Clint popped the pills in his mouth and took a long swallow of water, pushing aside his self-doubt, at least for the moment. When he was done, Bucky tugged the glass from his hand and gently settled him back onto his pillows.

“Need anything else?”

Clint squinted at him. “Why are you still here, Bucky?” 

Bucky shifted his weight, hissing out a low breath between his teeth like he was trying to contain his frustration. “I’m not going to leave you here to fend for yourself during a pandemic, especially not when you’re injured.”

“Hmm,” Clint grumbled, pain meds already starting to kick in and make him sleepy again. “I guess you can stay in the other room. Just have to clear some space.” He nodded, mostly to himself. “Yeah, I guess that’s fine.”

Bucky’s face relaxed into a soft smile and he nodded. “I’ll take care of it. Get some rest.”

Clint tried to warn him not to touch some of the boxes, which had various explosives and sharp objects in them, but his eyes were already closing. Bucky was smart. He could figure it out.

The medication pulled Clint into sleep much faster than he was used to, and it felt like as soon as he closed his eyes, he was back in Loki’s lair, planning to get the materials he needed to complete his plan. It was like Clint was watching from above, watching himself do whatever Loki commanded of him. He hadn’t had this particular dream in a long time, but it was the same as always. He saw himself kill innocent people, over and over again. This time, Natasha wasn’t there to wake him up with a well-timed hit to the head. He was just in a loop, hurting people, killing them, destroying lives on the word of a madman. He felt a ragged scream tear its way through his chest and he was falling through the darkness, falling forever into an abyss of his own making.

It turned out he was falling in reality too. Clint woke up when he hit the floor with a hard thump. Groaning, he tried to shake the static from his brain. His limbs felt heavy and he squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to push up from the floor. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t lift himself more than an inch before he needed to rest. He was tired, and foggy, and _sore_ , and it was more than a little embarrassing that he couldn’t even pick himself up again, but he just couldn’t. He hadn’t had a nightmare about Loki in over a year. He’d thought he was past all that. Apparently he wasn’t as far past it as he had hoped. 

The door opened and he saw feet approaching. Bucky crouched down beside him, not touching Clint.

“Are you okay?” he said, clearly mouthing the words for Clint to see.

Clint mumbled something, but his tongue felt too big for his mouth. He settled for shaking his head as hard as he could manage. Bucky held out his metal hand and Clint nodded. Sliding his hand under Clint’s chest, Bucky helped him turn over onto his back. His spine settled, and Clint let out a sigh at the relief. Bucky shifted his support behind Clint’s shoulders and eased him up. Once he was sitting, Bucky gave him a break, but didn’t move his arm. 

Bucky was strong, that much was obvious, but he was also much gentler than Clint would have expected. All the stories about Bucky were about how ferocious he was, how determined, how tenacious. No one ever mentioned that he could be soft. No one ever talked about how he cared for people, except maybe Steve, and that was from before, from when they were kids together. But right now, in this moment, the warmth of Bucky’s arm seeped into Clint and he felt some of his panic ebb away.

Once his heart rate had slowed and his head had stopped spinning, Clint nodded at Bucky and gripped his hand to stand up, Bucky’s other arm still bracing his shoulders. It was easier than he thought it would be, but that was probably because Bucky was doing most of the work. Clint sank down onto the edge of the mattress, hands gripping the comforter to hide how much they were shaking. 

“No more pain meds,” he mumbled, peeking up at Bucky. Bucky was doing his best to look stern, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. He still folded his arms and shook his head, but there was a tiny crack in the facade, and Clint would take it.

“You need them.”

“No more sleep.”

“Clint.” Even though Clint couldn’t hear him, he could see the exasperation in Bucky’s face. “You need to rest.”

“Can’t I rest in my living room while watching TV?”

Bucky sighed, and Clint knew he had him. The stony expression on Bucky’s face was slipping, and Clint could see just a hint of resignation in his blue eyes, like he couldn’t believe Clint was pushing him like this, but he also knew he wasn’t going to win this battle.

“Fine. But I’m helping you walk out there.”

Clint held up his hands in surrender. He wasn’t going to pass up the help, after seeing for himself how easy it was for Bucky to do it. He’d heard all the stories about Bucky and how strong he was, and now that he had experienced it for himself, he wasn’t going to let the opportunity go by to see it again. It was a good distraction, anyway.

“Pass me my ears?”

Bucky nodded, handing them to Clint. Sliding them into place, Clint tried to smile. The expression pulled at his cheeks and didn’t feel right on his face. The nightmare still echoed in his mind and he needed to get out of this room, no matter how much it hurt.

“Ready?” 

At Clint’s nod, Bucky’s arm slid back around him, warm and safe, and Clint only winced a little when he accidentally put weight on his left leg. He leaned on Bucky, and let him lead him out of his room and out to the couch.

“How long was I asleep?” he said, freezing at the sight of what might have well been an entirely new apartment. All the dirty dishes and pizza boxes were gone, every surface shone like it had been polished, and there was something in a pot on the stove that smelled much better than anything Clint had ever managed to cook, the few times he had tried.

Bucky blinked at him curiously. “A few hours.”

“And you managed to do all of this?” Bucky shrugged, nudging Clint to start moving until he was able to sit comfortably on the couch. “Is that one of your superpowers?”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. Clint thought he saw the barest hint of pink on Bucky’s cheeks, but he was probably imagining it. “It’s no big deal.”

“Are you kidding? This place wasn’t even this clean when I moved in.” Bucky was definitely blushing now, and focusing on that was much more fun than thinking about the dream that had knocked Clint out of bed, so he was going to run with it. “And I don’t know the last time I cooked.”

“I figured from all the takeout boxes. You eat a lot of pizza, huh?”

Clint scowled. “Yeah, so?”

Bucky laughed, smile broad and bright. When he laughed, Clint was almost able to picture who he might have been, before, when he was just Steve’s best friend and not a former HYDRA assassin.

“Just stay there. I’ll bring you some soup.”

“I’m not sick, you know, just a little banged up.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “ _A little banged up_? Is that what you call it?”

Clint shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“You know, I believe that.” Bucky turned away, scooping soup into a bowl. “This isn’t just any soup, though. This is an old family recipe, passed down from my grandmother.”

“So, what, it’s magic soup or something?”

Bucky laughed again, and Clint realized he didn’t remember ever hearing him laugh like this before, so easily and so often. He brought the soup over, and Clint shifted to sit up, wincing again from the pain in his knee.

“Need some ice?” Of course Bucky noticed, even though Clint hadn’t made a sound. Those super soldier senses were no joke.

“Just have some soup with me. Please. Don’t make me eat by myself.”

Bucky smiled gently. “Okay.” He settled onto the couch with his own bowl of soup as Clint took a tiny sip.

“Oh my god,” he moaned as flavor spread over his tongue and he eagerly took another spoonful. “What’s in this?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up with a delighted smile. “You like it?”

“Seriously, what’s in it?”

“Secret family recipe,” he said, shaking his head. “If I tell you, I’d have to kill you.”

And really, that should have been intimidating coming from Bucky Barnes, super assassin, but Clint just snorted and nudged him with his shoulder. The movement sent a shooting pain down his side, but it was worth it to hear Bucky laugh again.

“You want to talk about it?” Bucky said quietly, after his laughter had subsided. Clint didn’t have to ask what he meant.

“Not really.”

“Okay.” If it had been Steve, or Natasha, or anyone else, they would have pushed. They would have insisted that Clint needed to talk about what had happened to him. Bucky didn’t. He just flicked on the TV and handed Clint the remote.

While they watched _Dog Cops_ and ate their soup, Clint couldn’t help but glance over at Bucky. He looked relaxed, at ease, almost happy, and Clint wondered again why he had come, and not one of the other Avengers. Maybe there was more to it than just wanting to make sure Clint was okay. Clint wondered if maybe, just maybe, Bucky had been lonely after he moved out of the Tower, into his own little apartment, and needed the company too. Clint didn’t mind. He could be company for Bucky, as much as Bucky was company for him.

“You want any more?”

Clint shook his head. He did, but he knew from experience that overeating and heavy pain medication didn’t mix. Bucky shrugged and took the empty bowl out of his hands, washing it out immediately and putting it in the dishwasher. By the time he came back, Clint was distracted by what was happening on _Dog Cops_ and hardly noticed when Bucky slid a bottle of water into his hand and a blanket over his lap.

“Thanks,” he said, a little startled.

“Don’t need you passin’ out on me again,” he said, just a hint of a Brooklyn accent shading his words.

Clint nodded and took a sip of water. Maybe it wasn’t so bad having Bucky around. Maybe.

* * *

It should have been weird. Clint was used to living alone; Kate had been watching Lucky for a while since he couldn’t exactly take him for walks right now, so being on his own was nothing new.

It took some time to adjust to each other. The first couple of days were strange, not only because Clint was spaced out while easing off the painkillers, but also because he kept forgetting Bucky was there, until he woke to the sound of someone in the hallway or in the kitchen and froze, waiting for an attack that never came. Some part of him assumed Bucky would leave, once he saw that Clint could take care of himself, but he didn’t.

He stayed.

Bucky wasn’t hard to live with, had never been one to bother anyone; but it was different having him here, in Clint’s apartment, instead of in the expansive space of the Tower. When they were living there, it wasn’t uncommon for them to go days without bumping into each other. Those sporadic interactions had fed Clint’s crush, the space between them driving all kinds of ridiculous romantic fantasies that would never really happen, totally separate to the reality of who they were as people. That kind of distance wasn’t really possible in Clint’s two-bedroom apartment. Bucky hadn’t complained, had just cleared room for himself in the tiny space Clint had to spare and moved in the few things he brought back once he was sure Clint could be left alone for a few hours. Clint hoped that his crush would fade under the kind of constant interaction they were having now, but it didn’t seem to be working out that way. Seeing Bucky all the time, in various states of dress and undress, doing all kinds of domestic tasks, had just made Bucky that much more appealing.

In all honesty, being in isolation wasn’t all that different to how Clint usually lived, except that he _couldn’t_ go out if he wanted, and that started driving Clint crazy almost immediately. 

“Why can’t we go get a pizza?” he asked on day five, voice edged in a whine that he knew was entirely unattractive. It was the first day that he didn’t feel completely exhausted and foggy from the medication, and he was tired of sitting around looking at the same four walls all day. “I need to move. I need to be somewhere that isn’t inside this apartment.”

“Which part of _pandemic_ do you need me to explain? You’re barely even healed enough to hop around without your crutches from the couch to the kitchen, and you want to go wandering the streets?” Bucky folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “I’ll go get us a pizza if you really want, but they also do have this thing called delivery. You should try it sometime.”

Clint scowled at him. “Fine. But I need to get out of this apartment one of these days.” 

“Not today.”

Clint went to pout on the couch, _Dog Cops_ playing in the background, and he must have fallen asleep again. His body wasn’t used to staying still this long, and his internal clock was all fucked up, especially after nearly a week on heavy-duty pain meds. Clint hadn’t had any more nightmares, but the dread of falling asleep and falling back into his past lingered every time his eyes closed.

He woke, hours later, in a puddle of his own drool, and he rubbed at his eyes, not sure what he was seeing. There was a blanket on the floor, and another hung between the couch and the kitchen, separating the space. A pizza box from his favorite place and a six-pack of beer was down on the floor, the TV was off, and Bucky was nowhere to be seen.

He pushed through the new curtain, freezing when he saw Clint. “Have a good nap?”

Clint shrugged, blinking at Bucky. “Yeah, I guess. What is all of this?”

Bucky shifted his weight, eyes darting away from Clint. “I felt bad that you couldn’t go outside, so I thought I’d bring outside to you. Sort of a picnic.” The tips of his ears went pink and he stared down at his feet, determinedly not looking at Clint.

“Really?” Clint didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever taken this kind of time to do something like this for him, not even Natasha. No one ever _had_ the time to do something like this for him, to be fair, and he wouldn’t have expected Bucky to go to all this trouble. It was a little overwhelming.

Bucky shrugged, and held out a hand to help Clint up. Clint took it and sat as gingerly as he could, knee stretched out to the side. 

“What kind did you get?”

“Pepperoni, sausage, and onion.”

“You don’t like onions,” Clint said slowly, eyes narrowing. They had ordered pizza a few days ago, and deciding on toppings had been a much longer discussion than either of them had been prepared for.

“No, but you do. I can just pick ‘em off.”

Clint took a slice, letting the warm cheese and soft crust ease any lingering pain. Pizza really was the solution to everything. He was convinced. He watched Bucky while they ate, and smiled every time he dropped a slice of onion onto his plate. As much as Clint had protested when Bucky first arrived, it felt good to have him here. It was harder for Clint to fall down the depression spiral that usually accompanied returning from a mission with Bucky here to distract him, and even better, keep him fed. That was kind of nice.

It was even nicer, another week into isolation, when Clint’s hair had started falling into his eyes. He hadn’t had his hair cut in at least two months, and it was getting long. It wouldn’t have mattered, but he had the messy kind of hair that just went everywhere, and he was getting tired of pushing it out of his face.

“Do you cut hair?” he asked, over his fourth cup of coffee. Bucky stared at him, looking up from the pile of masks he had made out of the shirts Clint could bear to part with. Seeing the purple bullseyes on the masks made him smile and Bucky said he would give them to the other tenants in the building, so they could be safe. Clint had only heard from a few of them, and he hoped they were all doing alright.

“What?”

“Do you know how to cut hair?”

“Uh, I guess so. I used to cut Steve’s when we didn’t have any money.”

“Cool. Can you cut mine? It’s driving me nuts.”

“I guess?” Bucky said it more like a question, but that was enough for Clint. He scurried off to find scissors, a comb, and a towel, and set them on the counter in front of Bucky before he could change his mind. Bucky set aside the needle and fabric he had been working with and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Bucky’s hair was long enough that a few weeks of extra growth didn’t matter, but Clint didn’t have the patience to wait for that. He wanted it cut, and he wanted it now.

“What do we do?”

“Let’s get your hair wet first,” Bucky said, and Clint went over to the sink, taking out his aids and setting them carefully on the counter so they didn’t get wet. If he had still been living alone, it would have been stacked with dishes that would have made this whole process harder, but Bucky didn’t let the dishes pile up like that. Clint bent over, turning on the water and letting it flow over his head. When he thought it was soaked enough he stood, shaking his head and getting water everywhere.

“Sorry,” he said, watching Bucky blink water droplets out of his eyes. Bucky handed him a towel and he rubbed at his hair, knowing that would just make it stand on end.

Bucky sighed and picked up the comb. _Tell me if I hurt you, okay?_ Bucky signed to Clint, whose eyes widened.

 _You sign?_

_I’m learning_. Bucky started combing out the tangles in Clint’s fine hair, and Clint closed his eyes. It was a soothing feeling, the teeth of the comb scratching over his scalp, and he wasn’t really in pain for the first time in weeks, so he could really focus on the pleasure of it. He was touched that Bucky was learning ASL. He was probably just doing it to make Clint feel more comfortable, but it was a nice gesture all the same.

Bucky tapped him on his knee, and his eyes shot open. _Ready?_ He snipped the air with the scissors and Clint nodded.

Bucky’s fingers were gentle, carding through his hair alongside the comb, as he trimmed Clint’s hair. Soft strands snowed down onto the towel Clint had wrapped around his shoulders, and he closed his eyes again. He trusted Bucky to do this, and even if it looked terrible, he had lots of time to grow it out again.

He almost fell asleep, sitting on the stool, but forced his eyes open when Bucky came around the front to trim the shaggy mess that was causing all the problems. Bucky’s eyes were focused, and Clint watched him work methodically around Clint’s face, metal knuckles just grazing his skin where he held the comb.

 _Do you have a trimmer?_ He asked, when he had finished with the scissors, miming the action of the trimmer when he didn’t know the word. Clint nodded at the bathroom and Bucky held up a hand, going to get it himself so Clint didn’t have to move.

He plugged it in when he came back, and Clint felt the vibrations of the trimmer along his neck and next to his ears. Bucky was very careful, as he had been with the rest of the haircut, and Clint couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed.

 _Go look_ , Bucky signed when he was finished. 

Clint pulled off the towel, sending hair flying everywhere, and hurried off to the bathroom. It was definitely shorter, just the way Clint liked it, buzzed tight by his neck and slightly longer and softer on top. And it was out of his eyes, which was the whole point. He looked good, almost respectable for once. Bucky had been so careful, so gentle with him and looking at the results of his work made something warm well up in Clint’s chest.

 _I’m never paying for a haircut again_ , he signed to Bucky, who was sweeping up the hair when he came back to the kitchen. _It looks great._ _Thank you._

Bucky just nodded, ducking his head in an attempt to hide his smile and the pink of his cheeks. Clint slid his aids back into his ears and settled onto the couch for another busy day of daytime TV.

So, all in all, isolation wasn’t so bad, especially when Bucky finally agreed to take Clint out for a walk, as long as he agreed to wear one of the masks Bucky had made. He chose the most obnoxiously purple one in the pile and they headed out, dropping masks at each door and knocking gently. They hardly made it down the block before Clint was ready to head back, but it felt good to get outside and out of the apartment, if only for a little while.

And still, even though Clint was fully back on his feet and able to take care of himself, Bucky stayed. He stayed and made himself useful, cooking and cleaning and doing anything else Clint might need. He was the ultimate roommate, and Clint was getting very spoiled.

“Do you even sleep?” he asked one morning, about a month into their shared isolation, when he had woken with a twinge of pain in his shoulder and couldn’t go back to sleep. He had wandered into the kitchen and found Bucky already awake but only half-dressed, making pancakes in nothing but an apron and sweatpants slung low across his hips. 

Bucky shot him a look and didn’t answer, sliding him a mug of coffee instead. Clint grinned at him, saluting him with the cup and took a long drink.

“Why is your coffee better than mine?”

“Maybe because I actually measure the grounds before I put them in the machine?” Bucky said, smirking a little.

Clint scoffed. “No. That can’t be it. I think you have some secret super sense that makes you extra good at making coffee.”

“Of course. That makes much more sense.”

He slid a plate of pancakes over to Clint; they smelled impossibly good. “Where’d you learn to cook anyway?” he asked around a mouthful that tasted of cinnamon and syrup and _home_.

“My ma taught me.”

“Back in the forties?”

Bucky shrugged, untying the apron and sliding onto the stool beside Clint with his own stack. “She worked a lot and my sisters had to eat, right?”

Clint grunted something in response, focusing back on his food. “You miss it? How it was back then?”

Bucky shrugged, poking at his pancakes. “Some of it. Wish I could see ‘em, you know?” Clint nodded. “They’re gone, now. Steve said I have nieces and nephews, but I’ve never met ‘em. Don’t think they’d want to meet me.”

“Why not?”

Bucky blinked at Clint. “You know why not.”

“But that’s not who you are,” Clint said, rage rising in him at the idea of someone writing Bucky off for what happened to him, especially if that person was Bucky himself. “Have you asked them?”

“No,” Bucky said, shaking his head. 

“I think you should.” Clint pushed his empty plate away, clapping his hands on his full stomach. “I mean, my brother’s never going to settle down long enough to have kids, but if he did, I’d want to meet them, if only to show them that not everyone in our family has to be an asshole all the time.”

“You have a brother?”

Clint shrugged. “Yeah. Who do you think taught me to shoot?”

“He as good as you?”

“Nobody is as good as me,” Clint said with a sly smirk, nudging Bucky with his good shoulder. It startled a laugh out of him as he cleared their plates.

“Might have to test that,” Bucky said, looking at Clint while he washed the dishes. “After the quarantine, of course.”

“Sure, sure. Let me get out of practice, then test me. Got it.”

Bucky chuckled again, drying his hands. “You need help back to the shower today?” 

Clint hadn’t been using his crutches much, with his shoulder hurting and his leg mostly healed, but he had to admit his knee was twinging a little. He’d also grown more comfortable asking Bucky for help, and accepting it when he offered. He probably could have hobbled down there by himself, but he didn’t feel like passing up an opportunity to be close to Bucky. And not just because Bucky hadn’t put on a shirt yet, though that didn’t hurt.

Leaning on Bucky harder than was strictly necessary, Clint let him lead him back to the cramped bathroom. Stripping out of his clothes, he stood under the water so long the hot water gave out, thinking about how different things were with Bucky now compared to when they were both in the Tower with everyone else. He had had a crush on him then, but hadn’t really known him, not like this. As much as Bucky had gotten to know Clint and all the things he liked, Clint knew things about Bucky now too, like what his favorite songs were and what made him laugh. He liked making Bucky laugh.

And sometimes, when he was feeling especially cooped-up, Bucky would do push-ups in the middle of the floor, and Clint really couldn’t complain about that. Watching his muscles pull and stretch, seeing the way his metal arm moved in the light, it was all a little overwhelming. Seeing him without a shirt on a semi-regular basis wasn’t something Clint had anticipated, but it had turned out to be the best kind of surprise.

Clint spent the better part of the day in his room, fletching arrows. Even with the lack of space in his apartment, he was trying to find time for himself -- and Bucky too. Having arrows ready to go was never a bad thing, either. You never knew when aliens were going to open a portal in the sky again. Couldn’t be too prepared.

“Beer?” Bucky asked, flicking the caps off with his metal thumb, when Clint finally emerged, fingers rough and cramped. Clint nodded, taking the bottle. Bucky settled in beside him on the couch, thigh flush against Clint’s. “What are we watching tonight?”

“Your choice: _Mean Girls_ or _Inception_.” 

“Tell me more.” 

Since Bucky had missed so many movies during his time on ice, they had started playing this game almost every day. Clint would choose movies he thought were essential viewing, and Bucky would choose. They had already made it through _Star Wars_ and _Indiana Jones_ , but Clint wanted to switch things up a little, expand Bucky’s horizons. No need to be gender normative about the movies they chose, right?

“Okay, so _Mean Girls_ is about high school and how mean girls are to each other.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “No, I swear it’s good.” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Fine. _Inception_ it is, but I’ll get you to watch _Mean Girls_ one of these days.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky said, smirking like it would never happen. Clint curled his legs underneath himself, leaning against the arm of the couch and hugging a pillow to his chest. Bucky sat beside him, limbs loose and relaxed, sipping at his beer.

Clint felt his eyes closing just as the team went into the dream and had the fleeting thought that it was ironic, before he was out cold.

He didn’t dream of Loki this time, though there were always flashes of blue in the corners of his mind that his shrink had said would go away. They never did.

When he woke, he expected to be alone on the couch. That was usually what happened when they watched movies at night. Clint fell asleep, and Bucky tucked him in with the blanket they left on the back of the couch, before heading to bed himself. Once, he was almost sure he felt the brush of Bucky’s lips on his forehead, but that had probably been just a very vivid dream.

Tonight, it was different. Tonight, when Clint woke, Bucky was still there, chest rising and falling gently as he slept. He looked so peaceful, Clint didn’t want to wake him. He would just tuck him in and let him sleep. But then Bucky tensed and his breaths got shallow.

Clint sat up, suddenly wide awake. Bucky jerked a little in his sleep and Clint heard him whimper. He pulled away, mind racing while he tried to think through what he should do. He wanted to help and he needed to figure out how best to do it.

From his own experience, he knew touching him was probably not a good idea, especially since Clint knew how strong Bucky was. The last thing he needed was a black eye or bruises, just when he was finally getting better, that he knew Bucky would feel guilty about. No, the only thing to do was to wait for it to pass. Bucky had to wake up on his own. In the meantime, Clint turned on a few lamps, made some coffee, and put a glass of water on the table. That kind of nightmare had always worn him out, and he knew Bucky would need to hydrate. The coffee was for himself, but he figured Bucky might not be too keen on going back to sleep when he woke up.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Bucky woke up, cold sweat shining on his forehead as his eyes darted around, looking for something familiar. When his gaze settled on Clint, some of the panic in his face dissipated. 

“Clint,” he said softly, trying to smile. It was a wavering, timid thing that faded almost instantly, and it broke Clint’s heart.

“What do you need?”

Bucky shrugged, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to get the feeling back into his hands. “Sit with me?”

Clint could do that. He sat beside Bucky and wrapped an arm around him, humming a song he remembered from sometime before his parents died, sometime before his whole life fell apart. He wasn’t sure why it came back to him now, but it felt like home and he wanted Bucky to feel safe. He knew how disorienting it could be to wake up from a nightmare and not quite feel like yourself. Bucky relaxed against him, eyes closing while he tried to get his breathing regulated.

“Water? Coffee?” he asked, when he couldn’t feel Bucky shaking anymore. 

“Coffee,” he croaked, and Clint slid the mug into his hand. He had made it just the way Bucky liked it: a splash of cream and two sugars. Everyone always thought he would only drink the harshest black coffee, but that wasn’t _Bucky_ , that was the Winter Soldier. Bucky was sweeter and softer and better than that. He was certainly better than Clint, to put up with him for this long.

“You want to talk about it?” He expected Bucky to say no, just like he always did.

Bucky sipped his coffee and stared at the blank screen of the TV.

“It just hits me sometimes, you know?” he said softly, voice cracking a little around the words. “Everything I did. Even during the war, I did some horrible things. I can’t blame that on them. There was something in me that made me what I was. It was me, the whole time.”

Clint would be lying if he said he wasn’t familiar with this particular form of self-loathing, but he hated to hear it from Bucky. “Hey, whoa, where is that coming from?”

“It’s the truth. Everyone tries to tell me it’s not my fault, that they brainwashed me and made me into that _thing_ , but it was me all along.” He sniffed and Clint wished he had tissues nearby. He was never that prepared.

“Listen to me. I’m not about to tell you how to feel about it, but do you remember when you asked me what my nightmare was about, when I was on all those meds and fell out of bed?” Bucky nodded. “Before you joined us, before I even knew you existed, we were fighting this god, Loki.” Bucky looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “I know. Just listen. He had this scepter that wiped my brain and made it so I did whatever he wanted. Didn’t even try to fight it, just did whatever he said.”

Bucky’s mouth had fallen open and he was staring at Clint like he had never really seen him before. “What snapped you out of it?”

Clint smiled. “Nat hit me in the head.” That startled a harsh laugh out of Bucky and Clint considered that a victory. “But I remember every single thing I did, and sometimes, some nights, it all comes back to me.”

“But Clint, that’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours either, Buck. I know it feels like it is, I really do, but it’s not.”

Bucky sank forward, head in his hands. “How do you deal with it?”

Clint shrugged. “Mostly, I shoot arrows into things.”

Bucky nodded. “Me too, but with bullets. Why do you think I was always down at the range when we lived in Stark’s Tower?” He laughed, low and hollow, no humor in it. 

“I don’t know everything you did. I don’t need to.” Clint needed him to understand this. “What I do know is that you’re a good person, right now, and that probably means you were a good person back then, too. You just had to do some terrible things.”

“You don’t know that I’m a good person,” Bucky said, scowling and staring down at his coffee like it might hold the answers he was looking for. Clint knew the feeling.

“I do. No one who isn’t a good person could put up with me for this long.”

“That’s patience, not goodness.”

Clint grinned. “Maybe so, but I’ve got a good feeling about you, Barnes.”

Bucky shot him a tiny smile, a real on this time, and Clint considered that a win. “I’ve got a very bad feeling about you, Barton.”

“Good. Good instincts. Go with that.” Swapping Bucky’s coffee for water, Clint hoped he was helping. Seeing even half a smile on Bucky’s face made him feel like he was, but he also knew this wasn’t over. He wasn’t in any hurry; he’d be here as long as it took to help Bucky through it. “What do you need?”

“Shower,” Bucky said, gasping a little after chugging the whole glass. “Then, I don’t know.”

“Okay. Go take a shower, and I’ll come up with something for when you come out. Deal?”

“Deal.” Clint watched Bucky shuffle off to the shower, and sank back against the couch. Even after only a few hours of sleep, he was wide awake now. Bucky needed him, and he wasn’t going to let him down.

By the time Bucky came back, hair dripping onto his shirt, feet bare, Clint had compiled a list of options. All Bucky had to do was choose.

He looked up after reading the list, smiling secretively. “I know what we’re going to do.”

Clint’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? What?”

“Come on.” Bucky just shook his head, grabbing a couple of blankets and heading for the door. Clint followed, humming softly to himself. 

Bucky led him up to the roof, and Clint realized he hadn’t been up there since this whole thing started. He saw a little sign on the door, warning everyone to stay off the roof until isolation was lifted, and he wondered who had put it there, since he certainly hadn’t. 

“This wasn’t on the list,” Clint said, watching Bucky spread a blanket on the ground.

“Nope. Just thought some fresh air would be good for both of us.”

Clint shrugged and joined Bucky on the blanket. The night air was cool and the stars were bright despite the lights of the city, glowing all around them. He lay back and folded his arms behind his head. 

“Good idea, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t respond, just lay down beside Clint, draping another blanket over both of them and turning his face into Clint’s chest. He wasn’t usually this affectionate, if it could be called that, but after his nightmare, Clint understood that Bucky needed to know he wasn’t alone. Clint wrapped his arms around him and held him as tightly as he could. He wasn’t alone. Clint wouldn’t allow it.

It was cozy under the blanket and Clint felt himself falling asleep again, his heart thudding against Bucky’s, their breath mingling together in little clouds of condensation. As his eyes closed, he had the thought that maybe the nightmares were what made Bucky leave the Tower to get his own place. He didn’t want to be pitied, didn’t want everyone feeling sorry for him, with everything he was dealing with. After what he had been through, he deserved to have people to rely on to pull him through these moments, but Clint knew better than anyone that it could be hard to accept help when you felt your weakest. He knew Steve had tried his best, but he also knew that Steve sometimes tried too hard, hovering and fussing in a way that was mostly just annoying.

He hoped that he was helping, in a way that was mostly just helpful.The way Bucky’s breathing evened out made him think maybe he was. Maybe he could. He could be there for Bucky as much as Bucky had been there for him, and the two of them could just keep doing this. Maybe even after the pandemic was over, they could just do this, whatever _this_ was.

When he woke, the sun was just breaking over the horizon and Bucky was still sleeping, snoring quietly, his nose pressed against Clint’s chest. He hadn’t moved since he fell asleep and Clint didn’t want to wake him, but as soon as he shifted, trying to get his aids out of his ears to give them a break, Bucky’s eyes drifted open. He blinked, frowning until he saw Clint, and then his face split into a sleepy grin.

“Morning,” he said, letting go of Clint, but not moving out of the blanket nest they had made. 

“Sleep well?” Clint asked. 

Bucky’s smile widened. “Yeah, actually. Best I’ve slept in years.”

Clint flushed. “Oh, yeah?”

Bucky nodded, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn and shifting away so he wasn’t touching Clint anymore. “Thank you,” he mumbled, turning onto his stomach and reaching out to squeeze Clint’s shoulder. Bucky let his hand linger for a moment before pulling it back to his side, and Clint certainly wasn’t complaining.

“You’d do the same for me,” Clint said, shrugging. It wasn’t even a platitude; it was the truth. “You have, actually.”

“Really?” Bucky peeked up at Clint and his hair fell into his eyes. Clint wanted to brush it away, so he could see his eyes clearly, but he held back. Sure, he had held Bucky while they slept, but that was because of his nightmare. Bucky wasn’t usually an especially cuddly guy and the last thing Clint wanted to do was push something on him that he wasn’t ready for or wasn’t interested in. Just because he had realized he wanted more with Bucky didn’t mean it would happen and Clint didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable and decide to leave. That would be the worst of all possible outcomes.

Clint nodded. “Yeah, you’ve helped me so much since you showed up a couple of weeks ago. You’ve been a really good friend to me, Bucky. Last night was the least I could do to repay that.”

Bucky tensed, frowning, and then he was gone, leaving Clint on the roof, tangled in the blankets and wondering where he had gone wrong. He replayed the whole conversation, and he couldn’t figure it out. 

He gathered up the blankets and trudged back down the stairs, rolling his shoulders to get the cramps out. It turned out that sleeping on the roof might not be the best for his still-healing body, even if it had helped Bucky. 

Bucky’s door was closed when Clint came into the apartment and Clint wasn’t sure what to do. This was something different, something outside what he knew how to handle. He felt like he needed to apologize, but he wasn’t sure what he’d be apologizing for and that felt wrong to him. 

He needed coffee. That would fix it. Coffee could fix anything.

Once he had two steaming mugs of coffee, he made his way to Bucky’s room, realizing as soon as he got there that he wasn’t going to be able to knock. He was trying to figure out how to stack the cups without spilling coffee all over himself, when Bucky opened the door and he spilled the coffee on himself anyway.

“Can we talk?” he said, wincing as the coffee burned his hands. Bucky sighed and waved him inside.

Even though it was his apartment, Clint hadn’t been in this room for a long time. It looked different than he remembered. It was very clean, with the boxes stacked neatly in the corner, and none of the dust or debris Clint knew had accumulated during the time he had lived here. Grabbing a towel from a stack on the end of the bed, Bucky held it out to Clint, taking one of the mugs from him.

Clint dabbed at himself, wiping up most of the coffee before sitting on Bucky’s pristinely made bed. Now that he was here, he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he started to say, but Bucky interrupted him.

“I’m sorry,” he said firmly, staring down at a spot on the floor. 

“Wait, why are you sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have, I don’t know, left like that this morning,” Bucky mumbled, still not looking at Clint. 

“Why _did_ you leave like that this morning?” Clint asked. “I’m really sorry if I said something that upset you or something. I do that sometimes, and I didn’t mean to. I really like having you here, and I don’t want you to leave, and I’m sorry.”

“Clint.” Bucky said, cutting him off before he could continue rambling. “You like having me here?”

“Yeah, uh, have I not mentioned that?”

Bucky shook his head. “No.”

“Well, I do. And I like our movie nights, and I like being around you and I like you, Bucky, okay?”

“As my _friend_. Right?”

“Well, yeah.” Bucky tensed again, and something clicked for Clint. “Wait. Is that what upset you? When I said we were friends?”

Bucky shrugged, draining his coffee and turning the cup around and around in his hands, metal clinking against the ceramic in a restless rhythm. 

“Aren’t we?” 

“Sure. Yeah. Friends.” Bucky stood, as though he was going to leave again, and Clint couldn’t take that. They needed to figure this out. He grasped Bucky’s wrist, and Bucky froze, looking down at Clint’s hand.

“You don’t want to be friends?”

Bucky huffed out a harsh laugh. “I do, but…”

“Just tell me, Bucky. What do you want?”

He sank back down onto the mattress beside Clint. Clint didn’t let go of him. Some part of his brain felt like, if he kept touching Bucky, if he kept this connection between them, he could fix this. They could fix this. He knew they could.

“I’m not used to asking for what I want, Clint.” He leaned closer to Clint, his metal hand closing over Clint’s. “It’s hard to believe I can now.”

“Bucky…” Clint whispered. Speaking any louder felt wrong, somehow. “Tell me.”

Bucky frowned, eyes darting back and forth between Clint’s, like he wasn’t sure where to look. He gave a short nod, almost to himself, and before Clint knew what was happening, Bucky was kissing him, just the barest press of his lips. Clint’s brain short-circuited and he couldn’t move for a long moment. But just as Bucky began to pull away, Clint’s hands came up to cradle his face and hold him there. He kissed Bucky then and felt him smile against his lips. His fingers tangled into Bucky’s hair and Bucky’s tongue pressed into his mouth, hot and demanding.

Bucky’s hands slid to Clint’s waist, clutching at the hem of his shirt, tugging him closer as he shifted back, until Clint was on top of Bucky. Bucky’s fingers toyed with Clint’s shirt, tugging it upwards, and the sensation of his touch, the warm and the cool, soft and hard, was overwhelming to Clint’s senses.

Pulling away for a moment, he looked down at Bucky. They were both breathing hard, chests rising and falling together. 

Bucky slid over and pulled Clint in to lie beside him, licking into his mouth and holding him against his chest, arms locked around Clint. Clint could feel how strong he was, and had a flash of imagining Bucky pushing him around, manhandling him in the way he had always wanted, but had never quite managed to find. 

But today was not the day for that. Today was a day for kissing, and touching, and exploring. They had plenty of time to find out exactly what their limits were and what they both enjoyed. After all, the stay-at-home order wasn’t going to be lifted any time soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked this thoroughly fluffy Winterhawk quarantine experience. It was one of those ideas that wouldn't go away until I wrote it, so here it is! Kudos and comments are always so very appreciated!
> 
> A huge thank you to [tellthemyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellthemyes/profile) ([quandjebois](https://quandjebois.tumblr.com) on tumblr) for beta reading this for me, once again stopping me from sprinkling commas into every sentence like salt and pepper and making sure that I keep these very soft boys in character. <3


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